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Chapter 54 - Viva La Revolution
🕑 Added 2025-12-25 19:45:13 +0000 UTCWatchtower
Miles wasn’t able to discover where the DNA samples had been taken.
Yet.
He, however, found something just as interesting.
Project Starfish.
With Dr. Krill’s plans to infect her children with the viruses foiled, he, with Raven’s help, decided to investigate Corto Maltese. The Herrera family was in power, and the scientific experimentation facility, named Jotunheim, existed there.
Taking photos did not present any problems to Raven.
Corto Maltese was not a signatory to the Justice League Global Relief, Rescue, and Intervention Accords, so they could not just stroll up to the island and put an end to the project.
Miles did not have the manpower necessary to instill a change in the island without drawing too much attention, but as always, there was a way.
Armando Joaquin was part of a small cell of rebels, insignificant enough that they were not even mentioned in the movie. He was an idealist and had a hard time finding support among the beaten and battered populace.
He believed it was time for Armando’s future to turn around.
—
LexCorp had vast off-the-books arsenals. Weapons and gear that were either destroyed, exported, or just prototypes found their way across the planet through stolen shipments, shell companies, and third-party brokers.
It just so happened he knew how Lex was going to smuggle weapons to Bialya. A cargo ship carrying much-needed supplies to the poverty-stricken country also had a shipment of experimental power armor, weapons, and more.
He just needed a way to take the weapons without alerting anyone or harming the humanitarian supplies.
—
Raven required a line of sight, or a clear image of a location, to open her portals, and the plan played around it.
Star Voyager, a cruise ship of the Star Cruises, had to change its route due to an unexpected storm, passing awfully close to Humanity First, the supply ship sailing to Bialya.
Boarding the cruiser in the middle of the ocean after adding their names to the registry, they appeared as random passengers.
Miles was lying on his chair on the deck, watching the massive cargo vessel sail by, sipping his cranberry juice.
“Anything interesting aboard?” he asked, enjoying the refreshing aftertaste.
“There is a guy with an orange and black mask.”
That straightened Miles up. “Hide,” he warned, because that bastard would sense something was off.
There was a thump before Claire answered, “Who the hell is he?”
“Slade Wilson, a.k.a. Deathstroke, one of the deadliest humans out in the world,” he warned his bodyguard.
“Think he saw me?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Wilson deduced Deathshot’s location from those shots; he could detect someone watching him from the reflection of the binoculars.
Beneath the surface of the ocean, Raven was moving to the ship to sneak aboard to the hidden compartment and open a portal straight to the shielded warehouse.
“Tell Raven to be cautious. Someone like Deathstroke can track the smell of trouble from miles away.” This shipment must be important, more than just the monetary value of it, for Lex to hire Deathstroke of all people to guard the vessel.
“There is movement on the deck; the crew seem to be moving down.”
“Wilson is through, if nothing else, but it is fine as long as he is on the deck,” he said.
The only possible way to take the weapons was to board and seize the ship, something Deathstroke wouldn’t let happen without a fight.
But opening a portal to steal the smuggled goods? That, he would not expect for an
Raven reported that she was aboard, hiding in the shadows, but Miles still warned her to be on guard around Deathstroke. That man was dangerous for a reason.
Miles continued to sit on his chair, and Claire came down soon. She leaned down, whispering something to his ear, letting out a coy laugh before pulling him up.
—
Metropolis
“Hey,” Raven drawled through the portal.
Captain Neumann gave an imperceptible nod. “Miss Raven.”
“Alright, go ahead, and remember your orders. I want this place cleaned out as soon as possible,” he gave the go-ahead to his men.
This would be easy.
—
North Pacific Ocean
Miles was checking the process in the comfort of his cabin. His men were carrying everything out of the crates quite easily, since the latest in LexCorp tech was lightweight.
He should send the man a thank you card.
The last thing he saw inside the compartment was Deathstroke coming in, firing a bullet just as the portal closed. He imagined the mercenary wasn’t happy at how he failed.
—
Metropolis
Done with their heist, Raven extracted them all back to Metropolis, while Zalika erased the digital trail that they were ever on the cruise ship.
The warehouse had jammers blocking every signal out, a precaution against possible trackers or transmitters in the stolen weapons.
“Captain, give me a count,” he said. Raising the long, futuristic rifle to his shoulder, looking down at the sight. It was a plasma rifle with considerable power, and any unit armed with them would hit way above their weight.
“Enough power armor, guns, grenades, and gear to equip a small battalion to act as a force multiplier. Under the right hands, they can take the armed forces of a place like Corto Maltese,” Neumann gave his professional opinion.
Dare he say, they were better than his unit's gear.
Miles handed the weapon back to a mercenary, “I wager Armando and his men don’t fit that category, and you are too valuable to send there,” he said.
Any other time, propping someone from inside the Corto Maltese military to take the reins would be easier, but the dictators in this universe tended to be either comedic relief characters with deadly tempers or extremely capable.
Neither was the type of person he preferred to do business with.
An idealist like Armando was a different matter.
“We can train them,” Neumann offered.
Miles tapped on the map of Corto Maltese, “Herrera control over the island is unchallenged. Unless the rebels are moved elsewhere, you wouldn’t have a place to train them.”
Especially in the operations of highly sophisticated military gear.
“Then a two-pronged attack,” he pointed at the compound of the ruling family, “The rebels take the front with the advanced gear, we strike behind the lines, and we take the Herrera family hostage.”
“That would leave the military as an issue. The upper ranks are filled with opportunists, as was the case for dictatorial regimes.
Competent military leaders were dangerous to tyrants.
“A surgical strike to take them all out, then.”
“Yes. If they can be gathered in one place, we can take all the heads of the serpent with one swing.” Miles held his hand out for the file on Corto Maltese and the Herrera family. He was busy with tracking Luthor’s shipment and did not have the time to read it.
Claire brought the laptop forward, highlighting a section on the page.
“Here, look, the Herrera family holds an annual celebration, and most of the upper class will be there. Generals, ministers, lackeys,” she pointed at the photos, showing the family members mingling with the army staff.
Miles scanned through the background of the celebration, which was the day the Herrera family took power. “When is it?”
“In three weeks,” she said, pointing at the date on the next page.
October 14.
“Then we have our time frame. Captain, prepare to ship the gear after ensuring Luthor cannot track it. I have a meeting to organize,” he ordered.
—
Corto Maltese
Armando combed his hand through his hair.
They lost another member today. Not to the forces of the Herrera family, but to their own shortcomings. There weren’t even enough guns to go around for everyone, even if they all shared the same goal.
He had to go and find more guns, or this fight would be over before it even started.
Twisting the key, he entered his home, reaching out to light a candle, but stopped.
Light was coming from his living room.
“Come in, Armando, we’ve been waiting for you,” a flat-toned voice called out.
Swallowing the saliva in his mouth, Armando pulled his pistol.
So Herrera had finally deigned to send someone for him.
“Who are you?” he screamed, pointing his gun at the man and the woman who were eating pizza at his table.
The man held out a slice, not even bothering with the weapon in his hand, “Do you want a piece?”
“I won’t ask again. Who are you?!” He demanded to know again, alternating between targets.
His uninvited guest pushed the chair back, wiped his hands on a napkin, and walked to the wooden case lying on his couch.
“I would say Santa Claus, but it isn’t Christmas yet,” the man mocked, opening the case.
He pulled out a rifle, longer than an AK-47 and too advanced-looking to be ordinary, with lights and screens over it.
“Instead, I’ll be your guardian angel, here to grant your wishes,” he said, holding out the rifle to him.
Reaching with one hand while the other kept the pistol up, Armando took the weapon, “Herreras didn’t send you?”
The man huffed, amused, “Don’t be obtuse, Armando; they would drag you through the streets to make an example, not send assassins in the dead of the night.”
He was correct, because Armando remembered all too clearly how they had taken his parents before his eyes.
“And this?” he asked, putting the pistol on the chair.
His guardian angel took a slice, continuing to eat, “That is a plasma rifle capable of boring through the armor of a T-90 main battle tank.”
Armando’s eyes widened. Military dogs of the Herrera family had plenty of T-90 tanks.
“A small force, equipped with weapons like these, could do great things,” the man said, having finished his slice, and offered a hand, “Would you like to do great things for your nation, Armando?”
Armando took it.
He did wish for weapons after all.
—
Offering a plasma rifle to Armando did not make his suspicions disappear. Corlo Maltese was too insignificant to have any country meddle in its affairs.
With no oil or other exceptional resources and strategically unimportant, the only reason US military personnel would set foot here was because of Jotunheim.
It did not make sense for anyone to come and offer the rebels a lifeline to free their nation from the tyrannical rule of the Herrera family.
“What do you know about Jotunheim?” Miles asked. The scientific research facility overlooked Valle Del Mar, but not many people knew what actually happened inside.
“The base?” Armando scratched the back of his neck, “There are rumors of a beast there and horror stories. They even say that the missing people are sent there to feed it.”
“I am afraid that might be correct. There is a creature there, one that my enemies are trying to weaponize,” he confirmed. Though, rather than feed Starro, those missing people were most likely used as test subjects.
Armando collapsed in his chair, fearing that the same fate might have befallen his parents, “Then why don’t you destroy it? Why give me these weapons?”
“The creature is actually peaceful; it is as much a victim as your missing people are. I wish to set it free if possible, not murder it,” Miles explained.
The Justice League, even if they were willing, could not afford to attack Jotunheim, and his forces were not sufficient enough to take the facility and hold it long enough to set Starro free.
Not only the defenses of the base, but also the Corto Maltese military forces would be on the scene.
“Now, the more you learn, the more dangerous it will be for you in the long term. Do you want me to continue?”
Armando’s answer was a resounding no, but he wanted to know more about what would happen if they succeeded in freeing the country.
Miles wanted him to hold elections, and as the leader of the heroes that freed Corto Maltese, he’d be the perfect candidate. After that, he would surrender the advanced weapons and request the Justice League’s assistance to put an end to the experiments in Jotunheim.
He had also promised to invest in the island if Armando continued to be a public servant rather than a politician.
—
With the promise of weapons, Armando called his compatriots, including the ones that had left. The news that he had secured weapons for the fight had drawn more fighters than expected. He knew there were people hesitant to even speak to him, but they had a change of heart.
Showing the weapon to the would-be freedom fighters, he proved its effectiveness out in the field.
The red beam had gone through a three-foot-thick boulder with no resistance, leaving a molten hole behind.
For the first time ever since he raised the idea of fighting, Armando finally convinced the people to actually do it.
—
Miles didn’t trust Armando to keep the whole operation secret.
He was excited and accepted everyone regardless of if they were trustworthy, and he took the initiative. The population of the village was small, and the nearest military force was an hour away.
If an informant sold them out, the drones he had seeded through the area would find them.
On the third day into Armando’s call to fight, a woman had left the village, and her path would take her to the military checkpoint.
She was shot and buried for it.
The people needed one of their own to follow, a leader that would bring them to victory.
He would ensure Armando became that person and handle anything unexpected that might pop up.
Such as traitors.
—
Metropolis
LexCorp
“Sir, we have a problem,” Mercy said, barging into the room.
Lex knew it was an important matter and ignored the breach of privacy, “What?”
“The shipment to Bialya disappeared mid-transit. The chief of security claims that whoever did it had unknown means of entry into the compartment,” she reported the situation, having run to her employer’s office as soon as she was informed.
“Unknown means?!” Lex slammed his hands on the desk, rising with a fury, “Is Deathstroke making excuses now?”
He had hired the best mercenary in the world just to ensure there wasn’t the slightest hiccup with the shipment, yet it was all stolen now?
“He seemed serious. What should we do?” Mercy asked for orders.
Lex sat down, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’ll call Queen Bee to let her know there was an issue and prepare a new shipment.” He turned to his secretary. “In the meantime, tell Deathstroke to find the culprits, or he won’t see a penny.”
Lex Luthor was no one’s fool, and if Wilson wanted his payment, he would have to earn it. When he got his hands on the one who had dared to steal what was his…
“Yes, sir.” Mercy quickly left the room to relay the orders.
Comments
orcun demir
Sorry about that, too many Deadpool shorts.
Bobby Johnson
Wade Wilson is Deadpool Slade Wilson is Deathstroke
